Everyone has something that freaks them out beyond all reason.
My grandmother is so terrified of snakes, she nearly faints at photographs. My brother had a toy snake that didn't look remotely realistic and she about had a heart attack.
Now, I'm not fond of snakes any more than the average girl, they're pretty creepy. I don't like spiders either, although now that I'm on my own I've learned to kill some pretty dang big ones.
But what creeps me out more than almost anything, is mice. I hate the cute little buggers. Animated ones are fine, caged ones are fine, but loose? Forget it.
They must die.
Because I'm so opposed to sharing my living space with the tiny little fur balls, I'm extremely careful about how I store food and avoid anything I think might attract them. Unfortunately, my house is apparently God's gift to the Wild Kingdom because not only have I had raccoons and giant spiders this year, I now have a mouse.
Well, at least one mouse. I've only seen one, but for every one you see there are more you don't.
I tried to convince myself I was seeing things at first. I was in the bathroom in a most inconvenient position the first time. It's early a.m., I'm not wearing glasses and out of the corner of my eye I see a dark blur streak from the doorway to under the bathroom cabinet.
I think I said something like, "HOLY CRAP!!! WHAT THE HECK WAS THAT?!?" as I calmly levitated six inches into the air. (Luckily that was straight up, or I would have had a real mess.)
I finished rather quickly then went to get a flashlight so I could look under the cabinet. Was it a spider? A mouse? My imagination? I couldn't find anything. No holes for it to have disapeared into either. I convinced myself I was seeing things and finished getting ready for work with only a slightly higher than normal heart rate.
The next day I found an empty box in my basement that was left over from moving. There were strange little black specks inside. Nah, couldn't be mouse doo.
Then, Friday morning, I was standing in the bathroom putting my makeup on when it happened. A dark brown mouse darted out from under the bathroom cabinet, ran along the bottom until he reached open floor, then streaked toward the back of the toilett.
I don't remember my exact words, it all happened so quick, but I know there was screaming, flailing and jumping involved.
He rounded the corner to the back of the toilett so fast, I think his little feet left skid marks as his hind end fishtailed behind him. Then he was gone. I looked, no sign of a hole. Did he climb a pipe behind the toilett? Did he manage to get into the tub and down the pipe somehow?
I called my trusty guard dog, Jack, to come investigate.
"Get it, Jack! Get it! Get the mouse!" I point him in the right direction and he sniffs a few times. Nothing.
"Get it, Jack. It's down there."
He gave me a very condescending look before turning tail and leaving me alone to face my fears in the bathroom.
I faced my fears by taking the rest of my makeup into the bedroom to finish getting ready. Then, because I was so disgusted at being kicked out of my own bathroom, I bawled the mouse out.
"You're not allowed in my house! Do you hear me? Get out!!! Go live somewhere else! Don't you dare come back!"
I don't know if it heard me or not, but I sure felt a lot better. Jack gave me the 'you're nuts' look, then went back to sleep.
Needless to say, I bought poison and traps the same day, and wouldn't you know it? I haven't seen him since that fateful morning. I still tend to be a little cautious going into the bathroom, but so far no sign.
I'm not sure that 'no gnus is good gnus'. I'd almost rather have him trapped so I'd know he's gone. I'm jumping at every shadow, wondering if I just saw a mouse run under the couch, or down the hall. Chances are 99.9 % of that is my overactive imagination, but the .1% is what has me nervous.
Ah well, such is life. (shudder)